#european superhero

[guybracha]

miraculous ladybug fanart

[loki-was-framed]

[consumeroflemoans]

Which myths would you be particulary excited about working into the superfox verse

Greek myths are always a classic. I’ve already mentioned things like centaurs, harpies, sirens, and dryads. But tbh them in a modern setting has already been thoroughly explored by stories like Percy Jackson so they’re not the most exciting to explore.

I think what I’m most anticipating is Celtic folklore. It’s always been one of my favorite mythos. I kind of want to include Kelpies somehow because I love those murder horses but I’m not sure how. I just love how many of their creatures are just slightly inhuman like with the fae, leprechauns, werewolves, bodach, the dullahan, vampires, and a bunch of unique ghosts like the banshee. It would be fun to find ways to integrate them into modern society.

I think I just have a weakness for myths about tricksters

[oldtvandcomics]

Concept: The Lone Ranger origin story, but instead of the usual superhero movie structure, it is shot like a fairy tale movie. I feel like it would solve a lot of problems.

[breoasis]

Portrait of the Codfather

My contribution for @empiropediazine !! It's been done since june and i'm very excited i can finally post it :] Make sure to check the zine if you haven't already, even more if you're a fan of worldbuilding. I'm not great at worldbuilding that's why i applied just for the portrait lol

I'll leave some design notes under the cut for anyone interested <3 I'd love to hear people's thoughts on the zine and the emperors portaits (i'm biased)

- Jimmy's design is very far from his original skin for Empires s1 because let's be honest, it was just a recolor of his superhero skin, we gotta make it more interesting. I have a full design ref for him but breaking it down: green and brown hues (very swampy), orange-red for a pop of color and contrast, clothes made out lots of fabric (old and shredded to emulate vines and water plants for the swampy vibe) and the Codfather's head (mask in this case) which is heavily inspired by the headwear of Link's zora armor from Twilight Princess + the red fabric to cover the back of his head.

- Holding a dead salmon for obvious reasons.

- For the designs on the picture frame i took some inspo from european medieval illustrations, that's why there's two fish with human faces, i found a picture just like that and i thought it was funny. The rest is just cod, blue orchids and orchid leaves.

[magnetothemagnificent]

Can you explain the Jewish sidekicks post?

So. We all know (I hope) that Jews invented the superhero comic book medium. One of the most famous sidekick-hero duo, Batman and Robin, was created by Jews (Bill Finger and Bob Kane), as was Captain America and Bucky (Jack Kirby and Joe Simon). Sidekicks have become a staple of the superhero genre (although unfortunately in modern comics they've been in decline).

In Jewish storytelling and theology, the idea of the lone hero is a foreign one. All of the most notable Jewish heroes in Tanakh did not act alone- Avraham had Eliezer. Moshe had his brother Aharon to act as his interpretor, Yehoshua to act as his right-hand man and apprentice, Aharon and Chur to hold his hands up in the battle with Amalek, and when leading the Jewish people alone became too taxing for Moshe, he set up a system of delegates to ease his load on his father-in-law Yitro's advice. Eliyahu had Elisha. Devorah had Barak. While the relationship types between these people varied from siblings to master-and-apprentice to a married couple, the running theme is that all these great leaders had assistance.

In fact, for Noach, while he was considered a righteous man in his time, one of his main criticisms is that he acted alone, that he didn't make enough of an effort to reach out to others. In the very beginning of the Torah, G-d says "It is not good for Man (humans) to be alone, I will make him a counterpart" (Bereishit 2:18).

The idea of a lone hero getting all the credit and responsibility is present in various European mythologies, and subsequently Christian theology with Jesus as the singular Messiah and saviour. In contrast, while the idea of Mashiach is bit more fluid in Jewish theology, even Mashiach is thought to not act alone, with two counterparts to Mashiach, a Mashiach ben David and a Mashiach ben Yosef being recognized, as well as Eliyahu HaNavi to usher in Mashiach. This also intersects with Jewish ideals of masculinity contrasting with Western ideals. The ideal Jewish man is not characterized by brute strength and the lone wolf persona, but rather by a gentle, intellectual man with close bonds and loyalty to his family and community. (I highly recommend reading the essay by Jonathan Sexton in Chapter 5 of 'Jews in Popular Science Fiction' for more about superheroes and Jewish masculinity, especially with regards to Batman).

Sadly, there has been a noted decline in the popularity of and depiction of sidekicks in superhero media, which coincides with the increasing erasure of Judaism and Jewish influence in the field. Sidekicks are integral to the superhero medium, and it's a shame more people don't recognize their significance.

[thedailyplatypics]

Reminder that Disney actively supports and is complicit with genocide of Palestinians by donating aid to Israel after Oct 7th, but continuing to ignore Palestinians and their overwhelmingly larger amount of deaths and NEED for aid, basically delegitimizing their suffering.

They also still haven’t scrapped any plans to removed Sabra, an already controversial Israeli “superhero” from the next MCU film.

All because they want that 🇮🇱🇺🇸💰💰💵

Palestinians are counting on people to avoid these companies as much as we can.

If you aren’t going to talk about it, at least show that you care about human life by not buying their new merch or posting about it/promoting it.

You know who I am and how obsessed I am with this merchandise, so if I’M able to stop YOU literally have no excuse other than you don’t care about people dying & being erased while Disney has its double standards of only helping white Europeans with cash, but ignoring Arabs and people of color.

[tredawakandan]

Yea I'm convinced there were natural Blonde & Red haired Black folk living in mass at Europe in One Point 👌🏿. Of course as I mentioned they more than likely were breeded out

This was actually a post i was supposed to make years ago😂.. It's about the concept of redheads & the meta history surrounding them. The meta nature being red haired giants & how supposedly red heads are more psychic [also assumed to be witches] compared to the average white person.. My belief after studying this for some years is that these redheads were 1 of 3 things..

1. Whitewashed black folk that had reddish hair

2. albinoes

3.Mixed Race

There are numerous accounts of red haired giants & how they were seen worldwide. If you been following me I show the cover-up of giants with alot of them being black [search giant on my page or click my giant tag] To note lets not forget black folks living in the pacific ocean & their natural or sometimes died red hair ..Secondly seen above red hair is a trait of albinism & if these albinoes mixed in with only other albinoes seemingly a new people could emerge. I kid you not I went to school with a guy who appeared just like one of the albino red head in the Bhatti Tribe & he was just a Irish kid. Speaking of Irish[also search Irish on my page] There recently was a development showing like cheddar man of Europe ancient Irish were dark skinned/black.. Mixed kids to note can also be born with red hair. The 1st pic shows something i hadn't realized . Many ginger characters have been turned to black characters in the modern day. Are white folks telling you something without telling you directly🤔..

[venus-haze]

She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Soldier Boy’s been pulled from the European Theater to sell war bonds to the American people, the goodwill tour dotted by big cities and small towns alike. In the meantime, he gets familiar with the variety of women in dazzling costumes that accompany his speeches with carefully choreographed dances. You’re, without a doubt, his favorite of them all.

Note: Female (blink and you’ll miss it implied plus size) reader, but no other descriptors are used. This fic is so short because it’s pretty much PWP. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Dressing room sex, mirrors, breeding kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, overstimulation, implied baby trapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Chattering from the packed high school auditorium somehow seeped through the walls. The rural town that was the latest stop in Soldier Boy’s war bond drive had shown up en masse out of patriotism or sheer curiosity. Usually both. Electricity was always in the air before the show in small towns. Some of them didn’t even have movie theaters. 

You and the other dancers on the tour had set up camp in one of the bigger classrooms, using it to get ready in since it was near one of the bathrooms. Dresses, sequins, and makeup scattered about the room, making the place of learning look like a department store had exploded inside. You’d been helping another girl with the curlers in her hair until a masculine voice called out your name from the doorway.

“Soldier Boy wants to see you in his dressing room.”

You nodded, giving an apologetic look to your colleague, who waved you off. It wasn’t unusual for Soldier Boy to call on one of you to help him “warm up” before the shows. Lately, however, he’d almost exclusively been asking for you, to the detriment of your jaw. 

Grabbing a nearby tube of red lipstick, you hastily applied it in the illuminated mirror in front of you. The lipstick residue soon adorned a tissue that you discarded, and you used your fingertips to gently massage the muscles in your face in preparation for taking him again. You hoped you’d at least get to come this time.

A flyer had gotten you to this point, stark white with patriotic motifs, pinned to a board in the nightclub you had been working in prior to getting the gig. Uncle Sam declared, “Ladies, you can serve your country too!” You figured why not, there was a war on, and if you could do something to help, you might as well. 

Your qualifications led you to your local USO office, where you were handed a star-spangled outfit and joined a gaggle of other girls to be the supporting act on Soldier Boy’s war bonds tour across the country. At times, you felt silly, kicking and shimmying to audiences who were clearly only putting up with the opener just to catch a glimpse at the world’s first superhero. A man larger than life in every sense of the word, as you and your fellow dancers on the tour would learn.

Wandering the hallway, you checked each door for an indication of which commandeered classroom was his. Not one for subtlety, his dressing rooms always had ‘SOLDIER BOY’ printed in large letters, declaring his presence. You found the sign toward the end of the hall, giving a smile to the usual group of people who congregated around him, assistants and handlers to keep him on schedule.

You knocked on the door, announcing your arrival. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked when he opened the door. 

He smiled, putting his hand on your lower back as he ushered you inside. “Sure did, sweetheart.”

His dressing room always betrayed his vices—alcohol, drugs, porno mags. It didn’t faze you anymore, not like the first time he asked for you, a stuttering mess in his presence. Back then, you had to take a shot with him to settle your nerves enough to blow him without feeling too self-conscious. Now, it was routine. You moved to get on your knees, but he stopped you, to your confusion. 

Instead, he disarmed you with a passionate kiss that nearly knocked you over. You steadied yourself on his strong arms that had made their home near your hips. He squeezed them, pulling you closer so your body was flush against his as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. 

You let him take the lead, he always did—strong, masculine, hard-working. Wasn’t America lucky its hero was easy on the eyes too? Except he had a temper, a mean streak that could go for miles. Not that you’d ever been on the receiving end of it. No, for all his faults, you seemed to get the best of Soldier Boy.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You have?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re—“ he paused, searching for the word he wanted to use, “special to me.”

You weren’t sure why he was laying it on so thick. It wasn’t your first rodeo with him. “Special?”

“‘Course you are. You wouldn't be here if you weren’t,” he said. “I wanna try something different today, alright, doll?”

“Alright,” you agreed softly.

He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Your body came alive at his praise, and you pressed your lips to his for another kiss. He guided your body backward until you bumped into the vanity. Parting his lips from yours, he turned you around, bending you over it so you were face to face with yourself in the mirror. 

You looked at him from the reflection, brows furrowed as you wondered what he was doing. 

He leaned down, voice husky in your ear as he growled, “I want you to see how pretty you look when you come.”

Your eyes widened, and you grabbed either side of the vanity in preparation, to his amusement. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck as he pushed up your shimmery skirt, exposing your red, satin panties, specially made to be on display. Soon, your panties were around your heeled feet, one of his hands reaching to play with your clit while the other squeezed one of your breasts through your top.

“We look good together, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he asked, intense gaze studying your reactions.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned, trying to keep your eyes open. 

He always wanted you to look at him. From your knees when you were sucking him off, when he’d be standing on the side of the stage during your act, in his hotel rooms when he couldn’t find local girls to fuck around with. This instance was different, though, able to really see him, and yourself. You didn’t find your glassy gaze or parted lips particularly flattering, but he couldn’t seem to get enough.

His fingers had already brought you close to climax, and you whined when he pulled them away from you for a moment to free his hard cock from his pants. You shuddered, feeling it on your skin before he guided it in your pussy. Your hands curled around the vanity you were bracing yourself on. You weren’t sure if you’d get used to how his cock seemed to split you apart every time.

One of his arms wrapped just below your chest to hold you up, as you struggled to support yourself when he started pounding into you. Your pussy was already wet and pliant for him, and you'd be embarrassed by the obscene squelching sounds if you weren't so focused on getting off when he had brought you so close to the edge already.

You were your own voyeur, your brain feeling like it was going to melt, watching yourself getting fucked by him. His superhuman strength always caught you off guard, from the first time he shocked you by lifting you above his head on stage for a roaring crowd to the way he could make your body feel—and look—like you were little more than a ragdoll. 

“Gonna put a baby in you,” he grunted as he thrust into you, items falling from the vanity and onto the floor at the force he used to fuck you. “Want you up on that stage with my cum leaking out every time you kick up those legs—fuck—you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenched around him at the vulgar image he conjured up. “Yours daddy.”

His voice was strained, words slurring together. He was close. “‘S right, baby. Keep fuckin’ you ‘till you make me one. You like takin’ daddy’s dick, don’t you?”

You had to force the short affirmation out of your mouth, pleasure’s chokehold creeping up on you. That wasn’t enough for him or his ego.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“I love taking—oh fuck—taking your dick, daddy.”

He came, hard and sloppy as your pussy milked his cock. You cried out, feeling so full it almost started to hurt. Something in you finally snapped, releasing the pain and pressure as you rode out your orgasm on his softening cock. Your arms gave out from under you so that it was just his strength holding you up. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to go back to having sex with men who weren’t well-endowed superheroes. Go back to faking it, you supposed.

Your throat was sore. You hadn’t paid attention to how loud you were being. Everyone outside the room must’ve known what was happening if they didn’t have an idea when you first showed up looking for him. 

Soldier Boy pulled himself out of you, and you could hear fabric rustling and the sound of his zipper again. You didn’t bother trying to stand up, still needing time to catch your breath. 

He used his fingers to swipe up some of his cum that had begun dripping out of you, causing you to gasp at the slight sensation of them brushing against your pussy. You whimpered when he pushed his index and middle fingers inside you, already aching from the orgasm he’d just pulled from you. 

“I—I can’t—“

‘I can’t get pregnant and ruin my career,’ you wanted to say, but all that came from your lips was a desperate, animalistic moan.

“I got you, baby,” Soldier Boy whispered, voice low and husky in your ear. “Give me one more so it sticks.”

You choked on air as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing circles in the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers pushed deeper, and your hips bucked at the overstimulation, your spent pussy reactively pulsing around his cum-slicked fingers that curled inside you.

The woman staring back at you in the mirror was a mess with her mascara stained cheeks and smeared lipstick. You were utterly unrecognizable as you came again, harder on his fingers this time, crying out as you gripped the edge of the vanity, threatening to break one of your manicured nails. 

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing kisses to your cheek, as you came down from your second orgasm, pulling his hand from between your legs. “You alright?”

“I think so,” you breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

Your legs felt like jelly beneath you, and you wondered how the hell you were going to be able to dance in less than half an hour. You’d have to reapply all of your makeup too.

He turned you around, looking at you with a brief fondness before kissing your lips, soft and quick. 

“I need to fix my face,” you breathed.

He smiled. “Why? You look great.” 

You laughed softly as he gave you space. You pulled up your panties from around your ankles, knowing his cum would stain them by the time you made it back to the dancers’ makeshift dressing room. Taking some of the tissues from the box on top of the vanity, you began wiping your ruined makeup from your face. He stared at you in silence from the spot he’d taken on the loveseat that’d been brought in for him.

“I think I’d be a good father. Better than my old man,” he said finally.

You paused, looking at him from the mirror, giving him a sardonic smile. “I don’t see you as the settling down type.”

“Maybe I just need a woman worth coming home to.”

“Maybe,” you echoed.

“C’mere.”

You obliged, joining him on the loveseat. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. You let yourself bask in the intimacy.

“Things aren’t always gonna be like this,” he said. “Once the war’s over, what’re you gonna do? Go back to dancing in nightclubs?”

“Why not?”

His jaw clenched, cheek twitching as he pulled his gaze from you. “I don’t want you doing this for anyone but me.”

This could have been any number of things, dancing, fucking, being at his beck and call. Knowing him, he meant all of it.

“Ben,” you said, grabbing his attention, “then you have to tell me what you do want.”

“I want you. I want the white picket fence, kids running around the yard with the dog,” he said, the intensity in his voice wrapping tendrils around your mind, pulling you into the world he was describing. “I want dinner to burn ‘cause I was busy putting another baby in you when I got home.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

A voice through the door startled you. “Soldier Boy, the mayor’s here to see you!” 

“Think about it,” Soldier Boy said, getting up from the loveseat to grab his helmet and shield. 

The door shut behind him, leaving you to agonize over the future he presented to you. Part of you wondered if you’d really have a choice.

[blorbocedes]

can someone draw this with brocedes I have a fic idea where they're a celebrity actor power couple who are going through a rough patch/about to divorce but have to campaign their respective movies and lewis is up for an Oscar and his pr team found fans and Oscar voters respond positively to their power couple popularity and if lewis wins the oscar, nico has a better bargaining hand in the divorce and take him for everything he's worth. so the whole press circuit they get asked about the other half of their power couple so they have to pretend to be super loveydovey on the red carpet for that Oscars campaign #HamilBerg4Ever

lewis is the bigger celebrity, A-list, in an oscar bait huge movie, while nico's more indie - his film is in the european film festival circuits only and yes, he's super pretentious about the 'real art' of it all. they met and fell in love doing a small movie as relative nobodies where they had a sexually charged homoerotic friendship and it became a cult classic following and helped launch their careers (before lewis landed a awards-calibre movie beside cinema legend fernando alonso and became a rising star), which ended up taking majorly different trajectories as lewis would go on to do blockbuster movies and nico looks down on the superhero genre.

hollywood's only just started accepting gay power couples but the scandal that their explosive divorce would bring? the deuxmoi rumour that lewis hamilton cheated with costar sebastian vettel??? but ofc real finnish gossipheads know nico hasn't been spotted wearing his ring in months. trouble in paradise? but now this press circuit they've landed the hardest role of their lives:

sell it to the entire world how they're soooo in love when they can barely stand each other~

[artbyblastweave]

Lindelof's Watchmen?

I have very mixed feelings on it. I think it had extremely confused ideas about police and policing, power and its proper distribution, and failed to commit to its initial apparent skepticism on those topics in a satisfying way.

That said, I think that This Extraordinary Being provided an interesting and potentially very important counterweight to the original text. The superhero community in the original Watchmen was deliberately monoracial, white or white passing, because a major theme of the book is about the paradox of living out a rebellious cowboy ubermensch fantasy that's nonetheless functionally dependent on widespread tacit societal approval of your vigilante violence in order to remain sustainable. Let's run through the lineup of the Minutemen, excluding the cypher that is Hooded Justice- we've got a star athlete, a millionaire playboy, a former marine, a showgirl, a thug-turned soldier, a cop, a European heiress. The book presents superherosim as a gratuitous fantasy, carried out by people with sufficient institutional backing that they had other options.

But the thing about condemning "vigilante violence" is that sort of by definition, you can only really do so from an implicit position of faith in legitimate channels- there has to be something you can direct the would-be vigilante towards instead. Watchmen answers this by claiming it's a moot point, exclusively positioning superheroes as people integrated with and protected by the system, even if what that integration looks like in practice changes over the forty-year span of the timeline. This Extraordinary Being retorts, alright, smartass, what if you're not protected by the system, what if the system wears on its sleeve the extent to which it doesn't care about you and everyone who looks like you. You bring in a "vigilante" who's a black survivor of a race massacre in the 1930s- a man who tried to go through your legitimate channels and got stonewalled at every turn- and it suddenly becomes extremely difficult to plausibly portray the superheroic impulse as universally, irredeemably gratuitous. Very abruptly, you're brought back face to face with the actual fundamental appeal of the superhero genre- the idea of a figure who can cut the gordian knot when evil has choked out the halls of power so thoroughly that the idea of legality becomes a bad joke. Not that he really successfully cuts the knot, mind- this is still a bitter deconstruction. The scene where Will massacres the cyclops cell and burns their warehouse to the ground isn't precisely a framed as a triumphant beat. But it's an act of violence that nonetheless invites the question of what, at this point, you think that he ought to be doing in response to Cyclops, if not this.

[ducklooney]

In my country he is called Paja Phantom or Phantom Duck (Paja Fantom ili Fantom Patak). Lol.

I think we should we should start a compilation with all of this Guys different Names in different languages! Who's with me?

I'll start with the German one:

"Phantomias"

[ducklooney]

Unpopular opinion, but I kind of wish Disney would focus a little more on other characters from the classic Disney universe (Mouseverse, Duckverse, Dogverse) and not just the Sensational Six characters (Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, Pluto and Goofy) plus Chip and Dale and Pete. By this I mean Scrooge, Horace, Clarabelle, Oswald, Huey, Dewey and Louie, Gyro, Ludwig, Grandma Duck, Fethry, Gus, Gladstone, Ortensia, Mad Doctor, Beagle Boys, Magica, Glomgold, Rockerduck, Sylvester Shyster, Phantom Blot, Darkwing Duck, Jose Carioca, Panchito Pistoles, Aracuan Bird, April, May and June, Gosalyn, Morty and Ferdie Fieldmouse, Chief O'Hara, Detective Casey, Scuttle, Mortimer, Figaro the Cat, Max Goof, Neighbor Jones, Brigitta MacBridge and others characters.

By this I mean with regards to the latest Disney animation shows "A Whole New Sound", Hot Ones and these What If Marvel comics. Like you can't make superheroes and super villains out of these characters I mentioned?! Scrooge as Professor X, Glomgold as Magneto or Magica as Red Widow? It seems to me that Disney (I mean the American official one, not the European one for sure) ignores these characters and thinks they don't exist. Really disappointing in my opinion.

Feel free to reblog this and comment if you agree or disagree with this.

[synergysilhouette]

Once Disney's done with their sequel fever trilogy, I'd like for them to make more films like these

To specify, I'd like more films inspired by superheroes, non-European cultures, and fairy tales (modern or medieval, as long as it's magical). And if they're all musicals, then even better!

[jacquesthepigeon]

So I had an ML dream but it was heavily AU so for context Adrien and Marinette never met as civilians and go to different schools, Marinette grew up most of her life in China and has been able to interact with the paranormal since she was little, her family knows she can see ghosts but not about the superhero schtick, ghosts can only travel to places and people that have significance to them

Anyway to finally get started on the dream, Marinette has a weird ghosty accident that puts her body into a coma. She and her fam know it’s paranormal related but can’t communicate with each other cuz her body and spirit are separated and they can’t see or interact with her ghost form. So Marinette is desperate and starts checking where and to whom she can travel when she ends up in some random guy’s bedroom. Has never seen the mans and doesn’t know what significance he has to her at first. Adrien feels something behind him while gaming and turns around to find that a presumed stalker fan has snuck into his room.

Chaos as Adrien tries to chase out the presumed stalker fan, Marinette being surprised that he can see her and also now has to explain that she’s a ghost and not a stalker, and the Agreste mansion security team coming in to help Adrien with the invisible intruder (they assume he’s hallucinating due to gaming too much without sleep)

After things calm down a bit and it’s just the two of them again, they figure out that their connection is due to being superhero partners and this is Adrien’s first time seeing a ghost so he’s excited but it’s Ladybug and she’s apparently in a coma somewhere so he wants to cry

Marinette starts making use of Adrien’s ability to interact with the physical world to stay in contact with her family and investigate places she can’t travel to herself. They’re getting to know each other in the meantime so it’s chill and sweet.

One day while Adrien’s busy outside, Marinette starts walking around the mansion when she surprisingly runs into another ghost.

Emilie.

Speaking with her, she discovers the Agreste family’s villainy mess and that Adrien is completely unaware

When Adrien gets back home, Marinette is very stiff and awkward and asks strange questions before requesting that he sends her family another message on her behalf but this time in mandarin with her painstakingly listing out how to type each character on a european keyboard, unaware that Adrien knows mandarin and can understand everything she’s having him type out, describing her encounter with Emilie’s own coma ghost and the Agreste family’s nefarious plots

Drama ensues with no resolution as I woke up

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part six —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this was longer but i decided to break it up sorry :p

The last glimpse of civilization you had was a chaotic one.

It was the first day of the outbreak.

Freshly infected running around. Bodies scattered in the streets like dead flies. Screaming. Paul grabbing your hand and tugging you towards the treeline. Your nephew shrieking in your sister’s arms. It’s funny how trauma likes to grab hold of the minute details. You can also recall seeing a bus pass by with an ad for some superhero movie. You had planned on seeing it. The bus crashed into a house and the ad was licked by flames.

Paul was always the one to make the trips to pharmacies and markets. He was the one who wielded a gun, not you. You were the one to stay behind, fortify the fence, and watch over the two broken members of your family.

Society's dust— that is what you leave Ghost’s territory for.

You know you need to.

You wait for your period to end.

Freshly spilled blood is not a scent you want to carry. Greys are drawn to it like flies to rot. Something you learned the hard way once during a hunt with Paul. They were able to catch your scent from a further distance than usual because of it.

To your relief, Ghost lets you look at his map.

Of course, you can’t take it with you.

“Jus’ memorize it,” he grumbles under his breath.

So the evening before you venture out, you study the map of Northern England. Ghost brought out a whole stack of them from the room you’re certain is his. You notice a map of the European continent on top, briefly catching a glimpse of a black circle drawn in the middle somewhere, but he is quick to move it underneath the pile.

You focus on the one you need.

There is a black dot to indicate where their camp is amid the forest. Some 20 kilometers south is the closest city. Or village rather. Ribchester. Maybe that is a safer bet than going by yourself to a big city like Manchester. You may have a bow and knife and some strength, but you don't have a car or guns like he does. Or companions coming with you.

Blue helps you turn your pillowcase into a strapped bag with some scissors. You need something to carry what you find. Ghost isn't willing to let you leave with his backpack. Bitterly, you get it. It’s a useful item.

The next morning, you feel as prepared as you can be. You wake up earlier than usual, before Blue has the chance to poke inside your shed with Grim. You eat a big breakfast of two dried squirrels. You have a third one to take with you.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Blue picks at her breakfast as she sits beside you at the table. Her lips twist around thoughtfully.

You glance between her and Ghost. His stare is unreadable like usual. Dark, stoic, and hiding under lowered brows. You wonder what he thinks— if he would be secretly relieved if you don't make it back alive. Probably. He could get rid of you without Blue pointing the blame at him.

"Medicine is important. I need to find my own.”

We can’t risk sneaking anymore, you would say if he wasn’t right there. But by the way she slides her blue eyes to discreetly meet yours, you think she gets the hint.

"Just be careful, okay?" You nod. "And remember—" she lifts a finger, "—you have to shoot those fucks in the brain."

"I know. I've been practicing my aim a bit."

The smile you offer is only half-there. The truth is, you are risking your life with this. Part of you wonders how deeply she has processed that.

Despite her lips appearing more chewed-through than usual, they give a wary smile in return.

“Yeah, we could hear you hitting the trees. Right, Ghost?"

He hums low, but characteristically, doesn't have much to say about you.

But when you head for the cabin door after eating, his firm hand surprises you, gloved and skeletal. It wraps around your bicep and brings you to a halt before you can step outside. Heat spreads through his glove and the layers of your clothes. You turn around just as a metal object is silently offered to your chest. Ghost holds your stare before you look down at what he is giving you.

It's the revolver. The one they collected from that man.

The gun with only one cartridge.

"Thanks."

You bite your cheek to hide the dry tone, slipping the revolver into your coat pocket. Maybe it will come in handy. At least he now trusts you enough not to immediately point it at him or her.

Blue is the one to follow you out to the gate of their camp.

"I hope you find something good."

"Me, too."

"You know, Ghost and I only went on one trip that I can remember," she says as she unlocks the bolts for you.

"Yeah?"

"To get him more ammo from a military base," she explains with a wave of her hand. "It was pretty close, though. He says that we went on one other trip back to Manchester when things first happened, but he carried me on his back the whole time so I don't remember much except for all the loud sounds.”

This part she adds quietly: "Think I closed my eyes for most of it."

"I would have closed my eyes, too, Blue.”

The next glimpse of civilization you get is a desolate one.

Again, you are on your own. Though, maybe you’ve been alone this whole time in a way.

It is that weird time between winter and spring when the air is crisp but the sun is bright. You hope to complete the trip in one day, which gives you about nine hours. You walk and walk, leaving Ghost's familiar territory behind until the trees become new to you again. You’ve never gone south before. You stop by a creek to drink some water along the way. By high noon, you exit the forest for the first time in five years.

You can see it. Overgrown shrubs and dry vines that crawl over cracked concrete. A road. A billboard arches over with a peeled ad for shaving cream, the woman’s face looking mangled. Your bow is poised as you follow the highway towards the village, recalling a time when you used to take the bus ride down this very route to visit your sister’s home. You liked watching the trees and rolling hills pass through the window as you tucked your ears under headphones.

It is so strange.

The air is quiet with abandonment.

Briefly, you ache for a world that once existed and the life you once lived. Car rides. Music whenever you wanted. Drunk outings on the weekends when you were supposed to be studying for nursing school. Hope for a family of your own someday.

But you have to ignore all that to stay focused on the present. Now, life is whittled down to basic needs and protecting yourself the best you can.

The village soon appears as stone buildings with unkempt wisteria scaling the sides. Abandoned cars haphazardly parked throughout the streets. You keep your guard up and your nose flared as you approach. There is a faint, awful scent that looms in the air, but it is not strong enough to cause concern. Not yet.

A pharmacy.

You need to find one.

If you want to make it back to their camp by nightfall, then you can only waste about an hour or two here. You could spend the night in a tree and trek the 20 kilometers tomorrow, but sleeping in a branch is even more unpleasant than your shed and it is risky. You were willing to do it when you had no other choice, but what if some unfriendly people find you this time? Perhaps even unfriendlier than the threat of Ghost's knife to your neck.

An hour is killed just searching for the pharmacy.

You roam the empty streets.

Finally, you catch sight of the faded sign and your heart leaps. But the excitement fades away when your nose and eyes detect the group of Greys just outside the building in an empty parking lot. Their pale eyes aren’t pointed at you yet, so you move behind a crumpled car for cover. If you had gotten any closer, they surely would've smelled your human flesh.

You take a deep breath. How many are there?

Carefully, you poke your head out just an inch to survey the threat. Six of those fucks. That is doable given the range.

The last time you ran into Greys, you had no choice but to run because of the bow Ghost stepped on. This time, you can kill them off with the bow carved by his hands.

You are quick with it. You stand and release arrow by arrow. Four of the six are headshots. You aren't perfect. The last two receive arrows through their shoulders, but this type of wound means nothing to a Grey. It is their brains that are infected with the virus, just like Blue said.

These two begin running towards you, now catching a whiff of your scent.

You climb on top of the car. Hitting a running target is far trickier. You go for the faster one first, using two more arrows before hitting the skull, grey chunks of brain splattering onto the concrete. The slower one just barely reaches the car before you finish it off, the closer distance sharpening this final hit.

The pharmacy is reachable now.

As you run over, you gather the used arrows. Precious ammo. You pull them out of their bodies with a twist and a putrid squelch.

When you push through the doors to the pharmacy, you almost choke. The shelves— they are empty. You breeze through every aisle, eyes and hands seeking anything that could be left, but there is nothing. You check the back. You check the shelves behind the counter.

Empty, empty, empty.

“Oh, fuck me,” you croak. Hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You half expected this.

But you’ve come all this way.

You need something.

There must be somewhere else you can look.

The cars maybe. Most people used to keep med kits somewhere inside. There is a slight chance that one could’ve been forgotten. It is worth a try.

You keep moving, not wanting to return with an empty bag. The white sun hangs high. The dry air turns your tear-stained cheeks sticky. You pick up rocks to begin breaking the windows of the abandoned cars, poking your arm inside to undo the locks, and rummaging through the glove compartments.

CDs, magazines, condom wrappers.

Nothing.

“Please, please.”

You make it down the street like this, checking every single one. Distracted, you shatter the glass of a white sedan without noticing the shadow laying in the backseat.

Fingers wrap around your wrist as you reach for the inner lock.

A maggot-filled mouth lurches for the flesh of your hand.

An arrow won't work here. With a cry, you use your free hand to grab the revolver from your pocket and shoot its head. The sound echoes. The single bullet burrows right between its eyes. The Grey writhes for a moment before going limp against the seat.

Panting, you have to pry the bony fingers off your wrist.

Again, you search the glove compartment. In this car where the stench is thick enough to sicken you, a med kit and a Twix bar fall into your hands.

“Fuck— thank you.”

You stash both into your homemade bag.

You could leave now, but you are itching for some antibiotics. The kit will help you clean wounds without Ghost's help, but it won’t save you if you develop an infection.

The next idea you have is to check a house.

By the look of the sky, you can fit in at least two quick searches. You run over to the next street and kick at the front door of the first one you see. Nothing but knocked-over furniture and torn wallpaper. The bathroom cabinet is empty.

The next one you fight inside is decorated with furniture that smells like faded perfume. The first room you check is a bedroom. In the center, a full set of bones lies on the bed, void of any meat after God knows how long its been there. You try not to look at it. On the floor lies a pile of clothes. You could use some more, still dressed in the ones Ghost found you in. You don't even look at them, just grab what you can fit in your bag and move on to the bathroom.

Here, beside a pair of molded dentures, you find two half-full bottles of pills.

Amoxicillin.

Paracetamol.

You cry some more.

It's not much, but it is enough for now.

Your muscles are fatigued by the time you make it back.

You reek of sweat. It is a long walk. You run into a few more Greys but manage them. You eat the squirrel you brought.

Darkness covers the forest just when you spot the camp's fence in the distance. Relief. You actually did it. Some pride breathes into your tired lungs.

As you get closer, you make out two silhouettes leaving the gate. One is a girl who you tiredly smile at the sight of, and the other is a bulky tank.

You leap over the trench.

But when your boots land on the other side, the end of a rifle pokes your breastbone and prevents you from getting any closer.

"Ghost."

You can't help but shout at him, eyes widening. He is pointing a gun at you? You were just beginning to think he could tolerate you enough to not threaten murder anymore. The memory of your first encounter resurfaces.

"It's just me! What the hell are you doing?"

Panic finds you once again. Your chest rises and falls under his gun’s touch. You glance at Blue, who tries to get near you, but he sticks out an arm to keep her away.

"Dad," Blue groans, "Do you really have to— ”

The tip of the rifle brushes up over your collarbone and toward your neck. Your nerves awaken under cold metal.

"Let me see." His voice is firm.

Oh. Bites. He wants to see if you have any bites.

"Okay, okay." You nod breathlessly.

Swallowing, you gather your braided hair in your hands as he clicks on a flashlight. You have not been offered string to tie them with so most of the hair has fallen out as always. You roll your neck to one side, and then to the other to show him the unmarked skin. But he is not satisfied yet.

He moves the rifle down to the hem of your shirt and uses it to lift up the fabric just beneath your breasts, revealing the skin of your stomach and ribs. You should feel exposed, standing here with your bare midriff under the light, but the two of them have already seen this much of you. You are more concerned about the fact that he could kill you if he actually suspects you could’ve been bitten.

The cold air invites a shiver. Your teeth clench as you stare at him. In the darkness, his eyes almost lean red.

He lowers your shirt.

"Roll 'em up for me,” he demands, now giving a nod to your trousers.

You bend over to roll up the pantlegs, all the way up to your knees so he can’t complain about it. All that is revealed are your unshaven legs and sweat-laced socks. You are sure they can smell them from where they stand.

"She doesn't have any stupid bites, Ghost, alright?"

Blue tugs at his arm with a huff. Finally, the rifle lowers. You straighten back up and exhale the short breath you were holding.

There is a silent moment where the three of you just stand there. An owl hoots. Ghost rubs at his masked jaw and looks you over some more, eyes flicking to the filled bag over your shoulder with a raised brow.

And then, something unexpected.

A small body whirls into yours and you almost stumble back in a step. Blue wraps her arms around your waist and excitedly breathes out, "I knew you'd make it back. Ghost said you wouldn't. I told him you would."

What?

It is a short-lived hug.

But still, the first one you have had in a long time.

After this tiring day, your eyes close with some more moisture. It is a strange feeling, her young embrace. Her palms spread flat against your back and she presses her forehead to your shoulder because she is tall enough to reach it. You are just about to hug her in return, move your arms around her shoulders out of instinct, but she is soon tugged away by a skeletal hand. Her blue eyes drift down to her boots. She looks a mix of irritated and embarrassed.

In a daze, you end up back in the warmth of the cabin.

Blue begs you to show her what you found. You dump the contents of your pillowcase onto the table. Her father’s shadow lurks behind you somewhere, always watching and taking up space, but for now, you ignore him.

You cannot recall a time when you were in this kind of mood. It is enough to surface the waters of your grief. Because now, your survival does not have to rely so much on Ghost's mercy or the risk of Blue’s sneaky hands. Food, a med kit, one type of antibiotic. It should all be enough to keep you alive - to take care of yourself - for at least however long you end up staying here.

"Shit balls." Blue rummages through the goods. "You did pretty good."

"Right? I can't believe it," you whisper numbly. You wipe your eyes.

She holds up the clothes first, starting with a large, floral blouse that looks like something an old lady would wear. Her head tips back with a giggle.

"This is way too big for you."

"I'll make it work," you say, shrugging, but almost manage a quiet laugh, too. You don't really give a fuck what the clothes look like. At least you can change finally into something else - something that didn’t belong to your dead companions.

Where you care about the medicine, Blue is far more intrigued by the candy bar she discovers. She holds it up, and inspects the wrapper with curiously wide eyes, shooting a glance at her dad.

"T-w-i-x," she sounds out with pinched brows. She looks back at you. "What's this?"

"It's like... chocolate," you tell her.

"Oh— no way. Could I try some?"

You don't really care about the Twix bar. You almost forgot about it since the moment you found it in the car. But before you can tell her she can just have it as a late birthday gift - because she has done so much for you - Ghost moves to take it from her hands.

He puts it back down on the table.

“What’s hers is hers, kid. That’s how it works here.“